


Tucker Blue Eyes (Come Lets Dance)

by Discussed_Literature



Series: The Sweetest Tune I Know [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Set during Season 11, Since Wash has issues, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wash's POV, also Tucker glows, because aliens, mild anxiety attack, who am I kidding all these boys have issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 23:25:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4498749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Discussed_Literature/pseuds/Discussed_Literature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tucker decides a shipwreck is the perfect place for impromptu dance lessons, and Washington really isn’t sure why the universe seems to hate him so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tucker Blue Eyes (Come Lets Dance)

**Author's Note:**

> So I know next to nothing about dancing as you’ll probably be able to tell, but this damn idea wouldn’t leave my mind. Que almost 4000 words of Washington introspection and shipper trash set during Caboose’s discovery and reparation of Freckles.
> 
> I have ideas for a follow up post season 12 which may or may not get written, depending if my muse holds up. But until then, enjoy!

“What, never?”

“It just never seemed like a necessary skill to learn.”

“Not neces- Christ dude, things don’t have to be necessary to be enjoyed!”

“Why are you so upset over this Tucker? It’s just dancing.”

Tucker shook his head in disbelief, the lively jazz tune continuing to play through the speakers. He had discovered the downloaded files on the wreck, and decided to put them to good use. If there was one way to get through the crushing boredom of being stranded on a distant planet, then the music of the roaring twenties was the way to go.

“Count yourself lucky my Great Aunt Amelia isn’t around to here you say that dude. That woman’s taken a swing at men for less, never mind she’s over 90 with a bad hip.” he smiled before tossing a shirt towards Wash. 

“Here, get dressed so we can get started.”

Wash gave an unamused glance towards the man, holding the shirt at arm’s length.

“Start what?”

“Duh dude, isn’t it obvious?” the young man asked with a crooked smile that just screamed Tucker. Wash wasn’t sure if he found it more endearing or infuriating.

“Starting today, I’m going to teach you how to dance!” he announced, arms outstretched as proclamation.

Other than a slight twitch of his left eye, Wash held his lack lustre gaze.

“Absolutely not,” he held up a hand to halt Tuckers coming protests. “We are stranded in what could potentially be a hostile environment with limited resources, and I refuse to spend them doing something as asinine as dancing.”

Tucker clicked his tongue in irritation. "Dude, look, the reason we're stuck here is exactly why now is the perfect time to learn! Just hear me out Wash, we're stuck in the middle of nowhere and biding our time until someone figures out we need rescuing. What's the one thing that that leaves us with?"

"An abandoned canyon filled with men close to the edge of sanity?"

"... What's the two things that that leaves us with?"

Wash let out an exasperated sigh and massaged his temples.

"I don't know Tucker, enlighten me."

"Time!" Tucker announced, arms thrown wide as if to emphasise that the metaphysical concept was in a literal abundance around them. "Come on Wash, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one! We know we’ve got plenty of shit to survive out here, so what's left other than to kill some time. And," he said, with that damn smirk again and an exaggerated gesture to the stereo. "I have in mind the perfect activity."

“Tucker..." Wash began with a sigh. He could have explained how, when you were a space marine, no matter what situation you found yourself in, time was a luxury you couldn't afford. He could have explained how their time should be spent on rationing their limited resources, attempting to fix the radio to call for help, planning a strategy to save themselves from the situation if it called for it. 

He could have, and he probably should have. But he looked up, and caught the expression behind Tuckers’ smile. Behind the bold statements and immature actions, there was something resembling desperation. For all the man’s bravado, he was betrayed for a split second. Maybe this was what the young soldier needed, something more akin to living than surviving. At least for a moment. 

And, hell, maybe Wash needed that too.

"... I'm a lousy dancer." he said with finality.

Tuckers eyes lit up in an instant, and his hidden somber countenance was banished with the changing of the tracks coming from the stereo. And when Tucker grabbed Wash's hand with a laugh and explained how he was lucky then to be learning from the best, Wash couldn't bring himself to regret his decision. Not yet anyway.

Wash began stripping his armor as Tucker explained what was in store.

"Okay, so we're gonna take it slow since you're new to the whole concept, but just keep in mind that this is fun! There's no point in attempting if you get so stuck in trying to be perfect that you don't enjoy the moment. And, let's be honest, you've never done this so, yeah, you're gonna be pretty bad."

Wash snorted as he got his torso free. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

He reached for the spare shirt and caught Tucker giving a glance to his exposed midriff. He raised an eyebrow, but voted not to call him out on it. This whole venture was gonna be embarrassing enough as it was for him anyway. He slipped into the borrowed top as Tucker messed with the stereo.

"Hey, like I say, it doesn't matter if you're not good. With dance it's all about feeling the music, getting a rhythm going, and only caring about two things; how you feel, and how your partner feels. There's no one here to impress or judge, it's just you and me.”

Wash had finished removing his armor, and now stood bare feet, with his borrowed top and standard issue leggings all soldiers wore under their suits. "You know, you're oddly serious about this. I mean, compared to just about every other activity I've seen you do."

"Dude, if there are two things us Tucker’s are brought up to not fuck around with, then that’s their children and dancing.”

Tucker finally decided on a new, upbeat tune. He gave that same cockeyed grin, and Wash was suddenly debating whether this really was such a good idea.

"Let's begin."

 

XxX

 

It was a lot of trial and error. At first, Wash's movements were stiff, uncomfortable, and even timid. 

"You're focussing too much on your own actions," Tucker explained, an edge of frustration to his tone that churned uncomfortably in Wash's gut." You're trying to match them to the beat, when the music should be the guideline to your moves. Stop. Don't think, just listen and move."

"I am listening! And I'm moving too!" Wash exclaimed, coming to a halt. He looked down, embarrassment radiating off him. It was a feeling not dissimilar to how he felt back at Project Freelancer, messing up at what his friends found to be the most simplest of tasks. Except this somehow felt worse, because not only was his task something that children could excel in, but that it was Tucker teaching him, scolding him. The young Private that he had to lead out of this mess, that he couldn’t appear anything but infallible in front of. Somehow, disappointing Tucker felt worse than ever disappointing himself did.

He pulled away, feeling himself getting worked up. It had been a long time since he had felt so inadequate. The desperation of his situation began to hit him again; lost, abandoned by his oldest friend and left to fix the broken soldiers left behind. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t do this, why couldn’t he just do this?

His words came out in a mess, something along the lines of how this was a waste of time for them both, he couldn’t do this, it was sad to expect him to even attempt, he couldn’t do it, could never do this, he might as well just-

He was cut off by the feel of Tucker's hands on his cheeks. He looked up with a shattered breathe, felt himself shaking suddenly mortified at his near breakdown. He let out a sharp gasp instead however, once he saw how the dark man’s eyes had become a luminescent teal, practically glowing in the dim light.

"Tucker-!" He let out a strangled cry, scared for his teammate. Those eyes weren’t natural, something was wrong, he had to do something but he couldn’t do anything.

"Close your eyes," Tucker said sternly, with such uncharacteristic conviction that Wash could only gape for a second.

"Close your eyes," he repeated softly, and his eyes became a little darker, a little less unnatural, "and focus on me".

Wash hesitantly obeyed, tried to relax his body. For a while, they just stood there, warmth blooming on his cheeks from where Tuckers hands still rested. His breathing became less strained, his thoughts a little clearer. His heartbeats began to thrum in time to the pulse in Tuckers hands. 

It took some minutes before Wash realised he was no longer completely still, but instead swaying ever so slightly, Tucker emitting enough force to gently coerce Wash's body alongside his. Wash then joined in, hesitantly and then with a bit more confidence after receiving an encouraging hum from Tucker. Wash kept his eyes closed, following Tuckers lead, realising the man’s movements matched the music perfectly. 

“That’s right, remember the basic moves I taught you, and if they seem fitting, put them in. Follow my lead. Keep your eyes closed if it helps.” His voice was a low, comforting drawl, hands delegated to Wash’s shoulder and hip. 

He had never been a fan of jazz. Not that he disliked it per say, more so that there was a certain edge to it that he could never quite grasp. It made him think of times past, a time worlds away from what life consisted of nowadays. It seemed carefree, a living-for-the-moment ideology pinned within it. Which, for a man of his history, didn’t quite sit well. 

Yet now, in a derelict crash site surrounded by some of the most questionable soldiers he had ever met, and in the arms of one in particular, he found himself relaxing to the smooth clash of instruments, meshed together with voices of long dead singers. The press of the body leading him around the room was really an added bonus to his newfound appreciation. For the first time in a long while, Wash actually found himself content, present in the moment. He kept his eyes closed, led around the room in circles and spins, slow at first but progressively picking up the pace. Tucker occasionally laughed in between comments and instructions, but it seemed to be more from enjoyment than any mistakes on Wash’s part.

He couldn't say how much time passed, he merely allowed himself to feel, to move. It was only when Tucker came to a stop did he open his eyes to see a grinning Tucker, eyes once more their regular dark hue.

"What did I tell you Wash?! Anyone can dance with the right teacher! And you weren't half bad for a beginner," he laughed, giving the older man a wink.

Wash felt a smile come unbidden to his face at the praise.

"I didn't even realise what I was doing. If anything I was just following whatever you did," he shrugged, "I probably looked pretty terrible actually."

"And what does that matter? I keep telling you dude, it's not about how you look, it's how you feel! You're not on Broadway, or some tacky talent show. You weren't here to impress anyone, not even me."

“Well, I did find it surprisingly enjoyable after a while,” he appeased softly. “Thank you, Tucker.” 

“I aim to please,” he replied, with a half bow. “But if you want to carry on, there is one other thing we could try?” At Wash’s speculative look, he picked up the stereos remote and explained.

“You say you’ve never danced before, or at least not properly, which leads me to believe that you have never-“ he pressed a button, and the music cut to a slow swelling of violins, before Louis Armstrong’s “What A Wonderful World” descended over the room, “- slow danced.”

Wash let out a bark of shocked laughter, “Christ Tucker, for a guy with such terrible luck with women, that was damn smooth.”

“Say yes, and I’ll agree to ignore that comment,” Tucker shot back with a grin and one hand held out in invitation. With a smile he didn’t try very hard to hide and a roll of his eyes, Wash took hold of the offered hand. Tucker wasted no time in pressing themselves together, guiding the Freelancer’s spare hand to his waist, and his own between Wash’s neck and shoulder. 

“Since you’ll likely be leading with most future partners, we might as well throw you in the deep end and get you to lead this one.”

After a few directions on how to proceed, the two found themselves in a slow sway, Wash still catching himself looking towards his feet at times to Tuckers soft reprimands.

“What do you know, the man can dance. Want to try a spin? It’s not very hard.”

“Ah, I think I’ll pass for now, best not to ruin whatever form I’ve managed to acquire so far. Besides, I quite like the position we’re in in right now.”

The words fell out before he had time to even fully comprehend the implications in his phrase. He blushed heavily, half expecting Tucker to come out with that damn catchphrase of his. He tried to stutter out an excuse until Tucker glanced up at him with that damn smile of his (Wash believed it now to be definitely more endearing than infuriating).

“Well, the feelings mutual then.”

He slowly moved his hand out of Wash’s and on to the opposite side of the man’s neck, keeping eye contact. On instinct, Wash moved his now free hand down on Tuckers hips, not once breaking the momentum of their dance.

Wash was quickly getting progressively flustered, and attempted to latch on to any topic that could distract him from Tucker’s stare and those damn...

“Eyes…”

At Tuckers thoroughly confused expression, which wrinkled his nose up quite attractively, he hurried to explain himself.

“They, um, went blue at one point. When you were teaching me. I had almost forgotten…”he floundered for an explanation, annoyed at how inarticulate he had suddenly become. But Tuckers expression lit up in understanding, and he let out a soft noise of understanding.

“Ah, it’s nothing to worry about. Just some of the changes my body went through after the whole Sangheilian incident.” At Wash’s nonplussed expression, he detailed how his own DNA had been altered slightly with Juniors coming. 

“It’s nothing major, just a few side effects when in certain situations. Basically, my eye colour changes to blue during extreme emotional situations. Certain parts of my skin too, where they branded and tattooed my back.” he frowned suddenly. “At least I think so, I wasn’t really paying attention to the alien medical examiner when I left Blood Gulch. And since we’re in armour most of the time, I don’t really notice it much. Either way, it’s nothing major. That or he said it could be potentially fatal,” he shrugged. “Eh, 50/50.”

Wash stared wide eyed, mouth slightly agape at every word the younger man muttered. He hadn’t known what to expect from Tucker, but it certainly wasn’t this. A small voice in the back of his head reminded him that he knew Tucker was a good soldier, the man was just a bit rough around the edges. This information merely furthered that belief.

“You are one of the most incredible people I have ever met. And considering the crew I used to work with, that’s saying a lot.”

“Well, I’m just gonna take that as a compliment.”

“You should, it was meant to be.”

Tucker seemed caught off guard by that comment, which only made his following smile all the more endearing. Wash distantly heard the track coming to a close, and he had never wished so fervently for a song to have no end. He couldn’t begin to describe how good this felt, how comfortable he was, which was a pretty impressive for a man normally so paranoid around others. But the press of another body against his felt good, and not exactly in an erotic way. Wash found himself trying to remember the last time he had any reciprocated human contact, and found the answer a depressing one. Having Tucker this close to him, having a form of trust that allowed Wash to relax further into the others hold as the night progressed was not only enjoyable, it was goddamn therapeutic. 

Thus it was with a heavy heart that the song came to an end, and with it, their dance.

The two continued their eye contact however, the air charged with a tension neither seemed able to break. Wash felt distinctly aware of his hands placement on Tuckers hips, and the dark man’s arms looped around his neck. No new track seemed forthcoming, allowing the atmosphere to fester, the sounds of one another’s breathing all that came about. 

Tuckers eyes, while never breaking their stare, began to change. Wash watched, utterly transfixed. He realised that Tuckers face was getting closer to his, his lips almost upon his own. Only when Tucker closed his eyes and began leaning in those last few inches did Wash do the same, almost wishing he could stop Tucker just to continuing looking into those unnaturally blue eyes. What was to come however, would be so much sweeter.

XxX

It was a well-known fact that the universe loved to fuck with Agent David Washington. So he really shouldn’t have been surprised that of course whatever would come to pass between himself and Private Tucker that night simply… wouldn’t.

A loud crash outside the room jolted the two apart, both men taking defensive positions with Tucker grabbing his sword from a side table. It was only with a sharp exclamation and sudden “Tucker did it!” did the two relax with a groan.

“Caboose, what happened?” Wash called out as he and Tucker stepped out and looked down the hallway. Caboose stood shyly some ways down, hands held behind his back. He was in boxers and a shirt, yet still had his helmet on. 

“Oh, hello Agent Washing-machine! Hey Tucker! Um, quick question. How angry would you be if someone, say, was looking for some tools- tools which aren’t to build anything specific of course! Nothing, nothing secret! And let’s just say, that while looking for these tools, they…somehow… set fire to the main generator. On a scale of one to ten.”

It took all of two seconds for the men to pick their way through Caboose’s ‘hypothetical’ question and notice the orange glow illuminating him from the door he stood adjacent to, and the slowly rising smoke coming from the same room.

“Oh my God, Caboose!” 

“Fucking Christ dude, how many times have I told you to stay away from everything important!”

The fire luckily wasn’t very big, mostly just a set of wires that had somehow caught a light, and Wash set about getting water as Tucker switched off the main power line. Soon it was out, and Tucker surveyed the damaged wires with a frown as Wash berated Caboose.

“Look, next time, if anything like this happens you need to tell us outright! This could have been a lot worse, and wouldn’t have been as bad if you had just let us know firsthand. It’s better than trying to lay the blame on Tucker and keeping it a secret. Do you understand?”

Caboose nodded his head slowly, looking at the ground, hands still behind his back. He let out a sniff and oh God Wash was not prepared to deal with a crying Caboose.

“I’m not angry with you, Caboose. We all make mistakes. I just want you to know what to do next time so we can get it sorted out quicker. You don’t have to get upset, you’re not in trouble.” Tucker stood from his inspection and walked over as Caboose continued to look at the ground miserably.

“I know, it’s not that, I just… I tried to put it out! Before it could hurt any more of the wires! But…” He cut himself off, shuffling uncomfortably.

“…Caboose, show me your hands.” Tucker asked, face grim.

Wash turned, a question on the tip of his tongue and saw the disquieting look on Tucker’s face. With one more sniff, Caboose reluctantly held his hands out palm up. 

“Aw, dude,” Tucker said, voice unfamiliar and laced with pity. He gently took hold of them and examined the burns spread across each. “God, you’re an idiot,” he said with no real venom.

Wash looked on, unsure what to do. His gut gave an uncomfortable churn as Caboose hissed with Tucker’s careful probing.

“Come on,” Tucker said with a sigh. “I have some lotion that we can put on these in my room. Some bandages too.”

Caboose didn’t respond besides another pitiful sniff and Tucker let out a more exasperated noise.

“I also have some markers. We can draw on the bandages when they’re all set.”

Caboose visibly perked up at this sudden information, all attention now on Tucker.

“You do?! Really?! Oh, oh, I want to draw a happy cat!”

“Dude, draw whatever you want, they’re your hands! But only on the back of them, alright? It’d hurt like a bitch to draw over your palms right now.” He turned to Wash and gestured to the melted electrical equipment.

“You okay looking over that? This stuff goes way over my head, I’d probably just make it worse.”

Wash jumped slightly at being addressed. He’d felt a little useless during the conversation between the two Private’s, and had half expected Tucker to leave immediately to take care of the taller man’s burns.

“Oh, yeah sure,” he cleared his throat, suddenly awkward with the attention. “You, uh, gonna be okay with Caboose?”

“Talking to the guy who raised an alien baby here. I think I can handle it.” Wash frowned slightly.

“Still, if anyone’s a challenge for that, it’s Caboose.” He gestured to the taller man who was muttering about what else he could draw on his bandages.

Tucker let out a snort, and Wash felt minutely better for it.

“Come on Caboose, let’s put you back together again.”

“Oh I can’t wait to draw a kitty and a doggy, and a big tree where they can run around. And you and Agent Washington can draw something on my right hand, because I am very bad at drawing with my left hand.”

Cabooses’ voice drifted as he and Tucker moved out of earshot, and Wash paused. He allowed himself a few moments to get his thoughts in order. 

The last hour had been… odd to say the least. Not least with what had occurred with Tucker. He resolutely fought down those memories, trying to ignore the lingering images and emotions that the younger man had evoked in him. He forced himself to turn to more pressing matters, namely fixing Caboose’s mess. He berated himself as he surveyed the damage. How could he have allowed himself to forget who he was here; these men’s superior and leader? If he had been acting as such, Caboose wouldn’t have nearly burned their campsite to the ground and he’d have one less problem to deal with. And Tucker… he was a Private, an immature young man whom Wash had a duty to train and protect. And with that chain of command, any dalliances between the two would be seen as morally reprehensible.

‘Well done Washington, first time as leader and you find yourself almost taking advantage of your subordinates’ he thought to himself vehemently, feeling ill with the prospect.

He couldn’t bring up whatever had happened between them in that room. A dance lesson was all well and good, but that level of intimacy was unacceptable.

As the agent got to work finding replacement wires, he promised that until rescue came, he would work Tucker to the ground. Get him fit, ready for anything, and above all treat him as was befitting of their ranks. Starting tomorrow, everyday would be leg day.

Still, even with his resolve for such a plan, the image of alien blue eyes never did seem to leave his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Most people probably know the final song Wash and Tucker listen to, but here's a link just in case: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A3yCcXgbKrE
> 
> The title was inspired by a song from the musical Ragtime.


End file.
